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“We fall into a familiar rhythm of filthy kisses and eager hands. Soon we're shedding our clothing onto the floor. "Mmm, shower," Max mutters against my lips. "I need a shower. I'm so dirty right now." I lean away, playfully pulling out of his hold, and walk down the hallway to stand by the bathroom door. "You know, if I'm gonna move in, first I think I'd like a tour of the bathroom, specifically the shower. I need to know what kind of water pressure this place has before I commit to anything." A mischievous gleam flashes in his eyes. "You've been in that shower once or twice before. And you seemed to enjoy your time in there, if I remember correctly." "True, but I think I need to test it out one more time. Just to be sure I know what I'm getting." That half smile I love so much appears. As I stand there, I soak in the bliss of this moment. Max and I are together. After eighteen months of harboring secret crushes on each other, a million friendly conversations---and a few super-awkward ones---and all the conflict and work upheaval and family struggles, we're here. Together. Back in each other's arms and crazy in love. The motion of his muscled, beautifully tattooed arm yanking off his shirt pulls me back to the very hot moment unfolding. He walks over to me and hoists me over his shoulder. I squeal before falling into a fit of giggles. "Allow me to give you an up-close-and-personal grand tour of the shower," he says. "And the bedroom after that?" "Absolutely." And for the next few hours, Max Boyson gives me one hell of a grand tour.” — Sarah Echavarre Smith